"Drawing." She gave him a sheepish, almost coy look. Because Sam knew that in a place where survival was key, any sort of artistic pursuit sort of naturally fell to the bottom of the priorities. She didn't need Darwin to know that. It was fucking common sense.

The problem was, she had a metric shit ton of psychological baggage weighing her down. And drawing was the only escape valve she could safely rely on. After all, it wasn't like they had a movie theater, with twenty-four hour showings of the Space Wars movies for her pleasure.

Although, that would have been sweet.

She shrugged. "I was an artist before this place."